


Five times John caught Sherlock cuddling and one time he participated

by ZannaBQ



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5 Things, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 04:43:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1765882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZannaBQ/pseuds/ZannaBQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What the title says. Written for a prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five times John caught Sherlock cuddling and one time he participated

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/2262.html?thread=2168278#t2168278) prompt on the Sherlock BBC kink meme.

**5.**

The last thing John ever expected to see when he came home after another night spending on Sarah’s sofa (Sherlock had been especially annoying the evening before and John had thought it wiser to remove himself from the premise or else he’d end up strangling his flatmate) was Sherlock slumped over the kitchen table, apparently asleep.

 

John didn’t know what surprised him more – the fact that he actually saw Sherlock sleeping (true, he’d always assumed that Sherlock slept like other people, but until now he hadn’t had proof of that assumption) or the position he slept in. His flatmate was surrounded by beakers, test tubes and other laboratory equipment – Sherlock’s latest experiment, no doubt. His head was lying on a stack of papers – part of Sherlock’s lab book by the look of it – and John was pretty sure that half of that lab book would adorn Sherlock’s face upon wakening.

 

But what really astonished John and almost made him pull out his mobile and take a picture was the fact that Sherlock was clutching the rest of the lab book to his chest and snuggling it like a child might a teddy bear.

 

 

**4.**

After he’d already found Sherlock cuddling his lab book it really shouldn’t surprise John to find him sleeping on the sofa, snuggling with the skull. It was, after all, a friend of sorts.

 

 

**3.**

John noticed over time that visits from Mycroft and the ferocity with which Sherlock attacked his violin directly correlated with each other. Therefore, when John came down one morning – after an evening watching the Holmes brothers exchange icy insults and verbal assaults which finally resulted in Mycroft storming angrily out of the flat (or at least what counted as angry storming for Mycroft) and Sherlock playing the violin until the early morning hours – and found Sherlock sleeping on the sofa (again), carefully embracing his violin, John really wasn’t surprised. He just sighed, shook his head and spread a blanket over his sleeping friend.

 

 

**2.**

John never would have thought he could be jealous of a pillow, but – as he’d quickly realised – _never_ was a word he’d had to delete from his vocabulary since he’d met Sherlock. Because here he was, standing at the door to Sherlock’s bedroom, _insanely_ jealous of a simple pillow which Sherlock clutched to his chest in his sleep like a long lost loved one.

 

 

**1.**

Alright, this business with John being jealous of the inanimate objects Sherlock snuggled up to when asleep was slowly getting out of hand. The incident with the pillow had been bad enough (at least it had been Sherlock’s pillow), but John’s _own_ jumper? Wasn’t it enough that John was jealous as hell (again!) when he found Sherlock cuddling with his favourite jumper, did he _really_ have to feel betrayed by said jumper as well? He had a really hard time to restrain himself from storming over to his sleeping friend, ripping the traitorous jumper out of his arms and burning it in the back garden (and possibly even jumping around the fire and cackling like the madman he was). He was losing his mind; that was the only explanation for it.

 

 

**\+ 1.**

 It was quite amazing that Sherlock hadn’t ended up with a broken neck yet, the way he always dashed around the city like mad (usually John wasn’t that far behind, so it really was astonishing that they both hadn’t managed to break one or two limbs so far). But as it was, this time Sherlock’s usual grace somehow abandoned him and so their last crazy hunt across London ended with Sherlock having a lump the size of an egg on his head and a concussion, and John losing decades of his life by being scared to death when he’d seen Sherlock lying unmoving at the bottom of the steps.

 

A couple of hours spent in the A & E (John had insisted, despite Sherlock’s protests that he was fine, the man hadn’t even been able to stand upright on his own without toppling to the side), instructions to tightly monitor Sherlock for any worsening of his condition, and John found himself in Sherlock’s bedroom, sitting on Sherlock’s bed and watching his friend sleep.

 

The fact that Sherlock hadn’t even protested when John put him to bed had been more worrying than the lump or that John had to support Sherlock for the walk up the stairs. He’d let John put him into his pyjamas unresisting and then curled up and went right to sleep.

 

John sighed. He’d had many fantasies lately that involved him and Sherlock in Sherlock’s bedroom, but this wasn’t exactly how he’d imagined it. Certainly Sherlock had never been hurt in those fantasies and they almost always involved fewer clothes and more touching on both sides.

 

But this was kind of nice, too. John rarely had the opportunity to watch Sherlock being so still (his friend always seemed to vibrate with pent up energy), and at least this time Sherlock wasn’t cuddling with his pillow, or, god forbid, John’s jumper again.

 

John tilted his head to get a better look at Sherlock. He really looked different like this. Younger. And more peaceful. John reached out to push a strand of hair off Sherlock’s face when the younger man suddenly moved. Before John even realised what was happening, Sherlock rolled over and attached himself to John, head on his thigh and arms around his hips. With a small sigh he snuggled down and John froze.

 

 _Oh god. Oh god. Oh god._ John’s mind was on a loop. He really should have seen this coming, after all, he knew of Sherlock’s habit to cuddle with everything within his reach. Why did he think sitting beside Sherlock on his bed was such a good idea again? He could have monitored him from a chair as well, couldn’t he?

 

John was so lost in his panic that he didn’t notice Sherlock moving his head and frowning at his suddenly rigid body.

 

“John?” Sherlock slightly raised his head and blinked up at John. “What is the matter?”

 

“Uhm...” John swallowed. He’d thought Sherlock had been asleep, but apparently he was wrong. “What... what are you doing?” He knew it was a stupid question, but damnit, it needed asking.

 

Sherlock raised one of his eyebrows. “I don’t think I’m doing it wrong, so it should be fairly obvious. Even you should be able to work it out.”

 

“Uhm... you’re... cuddling me...?” John really meant it to be a statement, but it came out more like a question.

 

Sherlock smirked up at him. “Brilliant observation,” he said. The smirk vanished and something like insecurity flickered over his face. “Do you mind?” he quietly asked.

 

John blinked a few times, then he blinked again (just for good measure). Sure, he was no Sherlock Holmes when it came to deduction, but even he could deduce that apparently Sherlock hadn’t just clutched onto the first thing that happened to be within reach, but that he intentionally cuddled up to John. Which he didn’t mind at all, quite the opposite.

 

“No,” he shook his head and smiled.

 

“Good.” Sherlock sounded all smug again, no trace of insecurity anymore. He tugged at John. “Come down here, it’s quite uncomfortable with you sitting up like this.”

 

John snorted but complied. He skidded down the bed until he was lying with his head on the pillow, and the next moment Sherlock was snuggling up to him again, one leg thrown over John’s, his arms around John’s body and his head on John’s shoulder. John tentatively closed his arms around Sherlock and when all it caused was Sherlock snuffling into his neck, he strengthened his embrace.

 

For a while he just lay there, listening to Sherlock’s even breaths. Then he couldn’t restrain himself any longer.

 

“How do I know you’re not just after me because of my jumpers?” There. It had to be asked, no matter how ridiculous it sounded.

 

“It’s the other way round,” Sherlock mumbled. “Now go to sleep. I have a concussion and I have to rest. Doctor’s orders.”

 

John smiled and pressed his face into Sherlock’s hair. Seemed like he wouldn’t have to burn his favourite jumper after all.

 

 


End file.
